


What Are You Running From, While Chasing This High?

by Joyous32



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Depression, Endgame Ronan Lynch/ Richard Gansey III, Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Pain Play, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pre-Canon, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Destruction, Self-Hatred, bad trip, but I'd feel bad if I didn't tag it, not technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 12:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21036152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joyous32/pseuds/Joyous32
Summary: Before Adam or Noah, before the tattoo, after Niall's death, there was Kavinsky. And Gansey hated this fact. Ronan simply took comfort in it.





	1. Are You Jealous?

Ronan tried being quiet when he entered late that night, but there was Gansey sitting at his desk. “You’re out late,” Gansey commented when he saw Ronan standing in the doorway.

“What are you, my mom?” Ronan snapped as he stepped farther into Monmouth Manufacturing.

“Are you drunk?” Gansey tilted his head and Ronan shrugged. Drunk, high, sure. “You were with… him again?”

“Kavinsky,” Ronan stated, sensing Gansey’s wariness to do so, as if stating Kavinsky’s name made the fact that Ronan was high on Kavinsky’s drugs right now more cemented in reality.

Gansey stood and Ronan paused in his trip to his room. Normally, this wouldn’t have stopped him, but the purpose in Gansey’s step made him falter. Gansey reached over to place his fingertips against Ronan’s neck. Ronan could remember Kavinsky’s there, a bit harsher, only a few hours ago. Was it hours ago?

“You’re cut,” Gansey announced. “That’s deep, Ronan. What happened?” Ronan snorted, batting Gansey away now that he knew Gansey’s purpose. “Why do you let him—” Ronan threw a glare toward Gansey as he stepped off to his room.

“Stay out of it,” Ronan barked.

It was a small, nondescript cut. There was nothing that would clue anyone else in that Kavinsky had given it to him. There was nothing to inform people that Ronan had loved every second of receiving it. Nobody other than Gansey would even notice it amongst all the rest of Ronan’s cuts and bruises. And Ronan was too covered for Gansey to see the rest of the marks Kavinsky had left.

“Ronan!” Gansey called just as he went to slam his door. Ronan allowed himself to stop for a moment. “Please, next time…let me help. There are kinder ways of comfort.” Ronan sneered and slammed the door as hard as he could.

The following night, Ronan’s skin was boiling. Declan was being stupid again, but it wasn’t really Declan and Ronan knew it. More than anything, Ronan hated his own responses to situations he placed himself in.

As usual, he received a text from Kavinsky, as if Kavinsky knew. Gansey was directly outside his room, though. Unless Ronan were to jump out the window, Gansey would know something was wrong. Finally, he groaned—it was more of a growl—and texted Kavinsky back.

_Yes._

Ronan made no silent trip of his stomp down the stairs and toward the door. “If you’re going to see him again, I’d rather you not.”

“Are you going to stop me?” Ronan snapped. His reply had been standing at the ready.

“Convince you otherwise.” Gansey stood much in the same way he had last time to approach Ronan. This time, he stopped with his hands shoved in his pockets. “I’ll let you drive the Pig, with supervision,” he pointed a finger at Ronan, “if you stay here with me, instead.”

“Right now?” Ronan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Right now.” That was too good of an offer to miss. Kavinsky would understand, if Ronan thought about it. Not that Ronan cared. Ronan held his hand out and Gansey placed the Pig’s keys down. One corner of Ronan’s mouth twitched up in something close to a smile.

As they walked out to the Pig, Ronan watched Gansey’s face wince in realization of what he had just offered. Ronan sat in the driver’s seat and stared as Gansey got in beside him. He waited for Gansey to retract his offer so that Ronan could give him hell for it. Gansey did no such thing, just mumbled, “put your seatbelt on,” as he did so himself.

When the car roared to life, Ronan’s grin grew. He hadn’t even realized he’d been smiling. As he pulled out of the parking lot, Gansey gave a small jolt as if he had been expecting Ronan to floor it. Ronan rolled his eyes. “Drama queen,” he grunted.

At this time of night, most of Henrietta was asleep. The streets were empty, which Ronan had been counting on. He bit his lip as he gave the Pig more gas. More and more. Ronan sped down the streets of quiet Henrietta, waking whoever was in hearing distance, he imagined. He let the speed distract from his thoughts, his own actions.

Somehow, Ronan had managed to loop back to Monmouth Manufacturing, though he had no intention of stopping his ride for the night. As they passed, they saw a white Mitsubishi pull out of the parking lot and turn down a separate back road.

Ronan stared after him long after the light in front of them turned green again. “You’re sleeping with him,” Gansey finally announced, and Ronan jolted from his reverie. Ronan snorted to cover his own surprise.

“Is this a shock to you?”

“Not really. I had guessed as much. But that face…right there…” Gansey pointed to Ronan, who grabbed Gansey’s finger and shoved it away as he sped off once more, doing several more laps around Monmouth as the night went on. “Do you like him?” Gansey pressed and Ronan rolled his eyes. “I don’t think you really do. If you did, you’d stop me from…”

“Saying all the shit you do about him?” Ronan finished when Gansey trailed off. “He’s comfortable and safe.”

“There’s nothing safe about him.”

“Not how you’re thinking, no.”

“Comfortable…” Gansey considered and went silent. Ronan made no attempt to defend himself.

“I’m not…” Ronan slammed his hand against the steering wheel and groaned as he considered what to say next. “He understands the worst of me, Gansey. He understands…”

“Does he understand or is he just too high to care?” Gansey grunted out, and Ronan turned to glare at him.

“Don’t pretend to know how he and I work.”

“I’m not. But it would be nice if you told me how to understand, that way you don’t have to risk your life and future with—”

“My future. My future! That’s all you and Declan can talk about! Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I just want to live in the now? Maybe I don’t feel like thinking about ten years down the line. I just want—I just want to be okay. To be okay right now.”

“Are you?” Gansey asked, and Ronan ground his teeth. His honest self was at war with the truth, so he had no real answer. “Let me help you. Tell me how.”

Ronan drove the car onto the side of the road, stopping so abruptly the tires squealed. Gansey winced at the noise, but Ronan stopped from grinning like a fool at the smell of burnt rubber.

Ronan lifted himself from his seat to hang his head closer to Gansey’s. He stopped just a lip’s distance away, staring into Gansey’s wide eyes. “Are you jealous? Is this what you want, Gansey? Are you willing to be rough with me?” Ronan whispered.

“You don’t need someone to be rough,” Gansey countered, his hand running up and down the arm Ronan had placed on Gansey’s thigh to balance. His voice was as soft as his touch. 

“You said to tell you—”

“Is that really what you think, Ronan? What, is it your punishment for existing?” Gansey continued and Ronan glared. He lowered himself back into his seat. “Maybe I am jealous that my friend doesn’t come to me with his problems. Instead you go to some druggie to get them fucked out of you, is that it?” There was a long silence that Ronan endured as Gansey shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I shouldn’t have said that,” Gansey finally offered.

“I don’t care.”

“I hate that you seem to mean that.” Ronan pulled the car out of park and headed back onto the road, back home.


	2. Do You Like Him?

“I need your help with something.” Ronan stood in the entrance of his room, watching as Gansey turned in his seat. Gansey stood robotically, as if his brain was still processing the words that had just come out of Ronan’s mouth even if his body already knew how to respond. 

Gansey joined Ronan in Ronan’s room and watched as Ronan pulled out a bottle of disinfectant, rags, and bandages. “Don’t say anything, okay? I can’t reach, and I just want to be sure they don’t get infected.” Ronan stared Gansey down for a moment, so Gansey nodded blankly.

Ronan pulled off his shirt and Gansey covered his mouth, remembering his promise.

_Ronan._

There were scars and bruises all up and down Ronan’s torso. Most of the scars were pinkish, still new, but the bruising shaded from yellow to purple of the smallest of fingerprints down Ronan’s skin. Ronan jaw twitched at Gansey’s reaction, but he said nothing either as he turned to show Gansey the newer, open wounds on his back. There were three prominent marks. One as if a crackhead had tried to dissect Ronan but couldn’t find his middle. Another smaller that ran perpendicular and another that seemed like an afterthought across Ronan’s shoulder blade. And were those cigarette burns?

Gansey forced himself to remove his hand from his mouth. He took the quietest, most violent of breaths in and stepped forward to help Ronan.

A million questions whirred through his mind. _What is it Kavinsky used to make these marks? Were you careful, or at least as careful as you could be in a situation like this? Doesn’t it hurt? Do you _like _it? But most of all, why are you letting him do this to you, Ronan? _

“I was thinking about getting a tattoo,” Ronan said as if to relieve some tension between them. Gansey’s jaw worked, but he remained silent as promised. He didn’t see this as a relevant topic right now anyway. “You can talk,” Ronan insisted when the quiet was too much. “Just please—”

“Please tell me this isn’t an abusive relationship, Ronan.” Gansey knew what Ronan wanted to beg off him, but Gansey wasn’t so willing to cooperate. Gansey put down the rags and picked up the bandages, but then he paused.

“It’s—” Ronan’s hesitation made blood rush from Gansey’s face. “It’s not, really. It’s nothing.”

“This isn’t—”

“Can’t we talk about something else?” Ronan asked and Gansey left the room to find some Neosporin in the bathroom. Ronan was sitting with his head in his hands when Gansey returned.

“Why doesn’t he help you with this? If you don’t want me to see.” Ronan’s back stiffened when he realized that Gansey had returned.

“Maybe I’ll ask him next time,” Ronan snapped, but there was no true venom in his voice.

“You _let_ him do this to you.” Gansey gently applied the ointment and Ronan shivered.

“I already told you I like it rough,” Ronan’s voice came out gravelly, as if each word were painful to actually voice. Maybe it was. Maybe they had never discussed their mutual love for hurting Ronan while in the throes of horny boyhood.

“_Why_?” Gansey whispered and Ronan sighed.

“It’s a better pain than the one that’s in my head.”

“Aren’t there better distractions?” Gansey asked and then mentally kicked himself. “Better ways to deal with that pain?”

“I don’t want a therapist, Gansey.” Ronan understood Gansey’s mental correction.

“I mean, that’s a suggestion.” Gansey shrugged slightly as wiped his hands clean on one of the remaining rags.

“No.”

“Then, what about me? Can’t you talk to me?” He applied a bandage to one wound on Ronan’s back, careful to allow mobility for Ronan’s shoulder blade.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“But Kavinsky does.”

“Yes.” Gansey wasn’t sure if cutting Ronan up was a sign of understanding that the two boys alone comprehended or if that was just something that came into play after.

“What?” Gansey asked.

“What?”

“What does he understand that I would not?”

“This, for example.” Ronan shrugged his shoulders, making Gansey fumble with the last of the bandages. “He won’t judge me for wanting it. He gets it.” 

“I understand your reasoning of it even if I myself would not choose this method of relieving pain.”

“And would you help me with it?” Ronan asked and Gansey could see his neck go as red as his face presumably was.

“I won’t help you hurt yourself, no.”

“So, how would you relieve the pain?” Ronan retorted. Gansey placed a gentle hand to a section of bare, unmarred skin on Ronan’s back, and Ronan stiffened.

“I would talk about it, for one.” Gansey offered, hesitating where he sat. Ronan turned to face him, so Gansey’s hand dropped.

“And?” Ronan pressed, one eyebrow raised.

“Do you really like him, Ronan?” Gansey’s voice cracked.

“There’s a lot to be appreciated about someone who doesn’t judge or ask too many questions.” Ronan didn’t drop his eyes from Gansey’s.

“I feel that is not safe. Comfortable, as you said, sure, but you also said he’s safe. Why is he safe?”

“Don’t put too much meaning into a single word, Gansey.” Ronan placed his hand on Gansey’s shoulder, moving it up to his jaw. Gansey’s eyes flickered back and forth between Ronan’s, too close for anything else to be natural. “Kavinsky understands what it is to lose someone. Even if he’s a psycho about it, he gets it, deep down.” Gansey refrained from stating that he didn’t think Kavinsky had a _deep down_.

“Does he also understand this self-destructive road you’re hell bent on travelling?” Gansey breathed and Ronan’s eyes lowered.

“Yeah.” Ronan leaned in to give Gansey a light kiss to his forehead, and then headed to the bathroom. Gansey figured that that was the only thanks he would get and took his leave.

“Thank you, Gansey.” Ronan stuck his head out of the bathroom as Gansey passed by. Gansey gave a single nod and strolled off to his own bed.


	3. Why Do You Hate You?

“Ro.” Gansey’s voice echoed through the room and Ronan flinched. _Since when did Gansey call him that?_ “Please don’t leave.” Gansey insisted. Ronan had been so careful not to wake the boy, but apparently he hadn’t succeeded.

“Go back to sleep.”

“Don’t go, Ronan.”

“I’ll be back before you even notice I’m gone.” Ronan felt a bit like a parent reassuring a child, but then, he was used to feeling that old.

“Quickie, then?” Gansey glared and Ronan stopped from laughing at the childish expression on Gansey’s face. 

“Jealous?”

“Maybe.”

Ronan didn’t let himself believe that this half-asleep Gansey knew what he was talking about. “Go to sleep.”

“I noticed,” Gansey commented when Ronan entered Monmouth at a more human time that morning. Gansey was sitting on the floor amongst empty cereal boxes, but Ronan wasn’t going to ask what that was about. He was more concerned with the dark circles under Gansey’s eyes.

“You should’ve gone back to sleep like I told you.”

“Did he get you addicted to something?” Gansey asked and Ronan glared. “Is that why you keep going back?”

“You know why I go back, and I don’t need you monitoring what I do in my free time.”

“So, yes.”

“No, Gansey. I didn’t take any of his drugs.” Ronan scrubbed his face with his hands. 

“This time.”

“I smoked some pot once. Didn’t really like it. Haven’t done it since.” Ronan held his hands out in explanation.

“How’s your back?” Gansey asked, but Ronan’s glare turned fierce and he stomped back up to his room. He didn’t come down for school, but Gansey hadn’t expected him to.

When Gansey came home that afternoon, he continued working on his model Henrietta. Eventually, Ronan appeared and watched as he worked. “What is it?” Ronan finally asked and Gansey explained.

“See, here’s Monmouth. Here’s the school. Here’s St. Agnes.”

“Needs an orange Camaro,” Ronan offered, and Gansey gave a laugh.

“Are you okay, though, Ronan? I mean that truly.” Gansey asked a second later.

“I’m fine, Gansey.”

“Will you—will you tell me why he’s safe?” Gansey pressed and Ronan sighed. There was a long pause and Gansey suspected that he wasn’t going to get an answer.

“He knows only what I want him to know about me. I know things about him he doesn’t even know.”

“He’ll tell you when he’s high.” Gansey nodded and Ronan shrugged.

“He can’t hurt me the way anyone else could. I don’t care about him enough,” Ronan finished. Gansey thought this through with a deep breath.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Gansey announced, but Ronan just stared. “Ronan, you could kill someone, and I wouldn’t leave you. You understand?”

“I’m not going to kill anyone.”

“What is it you’re so afraid of me knowing about you?” Gansey insisted, but Ronan stood, never taking his eyes off Gansey. Then he walked away.

The next day was Saturday, and Ronan was nowhere to be seen. Gansey was studying when his phone declared that Ronan was calling. “Ronan?” Gansey answered, never having expected this day. He expected too much of Ronan even now it seemed.

“Come get your dog, Dick Three,” Kavinsky’s voice responded. “We’re in the parking lot.” Kavinsky hung up.

Gansey rushed into the parking lot of Monmouth Manufacturing to find Ronan sitting in the front seat of Kavinsky’s Mitsubishi with his head in his lap. “What did you do to him?” Gansey snapped.

“He took something, man. I don’t know what—had my back turned. Now, he just wants you. Nothing to do with me.” Kavinsky shrugged. “Get him out of here ‘fore he blows chunks in my car.” Kavinsky unbuckled Ronan’s seatbelt, so Gansey reached in to cart Ronan from the car.

“What do I do?” Gansey asked Kavinsky, having never dealt with someone who was tripping before. Ronan was bodily leaning against him, his arms wrapped around Gansey.

“Don’t know. Calm him down. Sing him lullabies. He wants you.” Kavinsky waved his hand. “He’ll tell you what he wants.”

“So help me, Kavinsky—”

“He’ll come down, Richard man. Give him an hour. Have him sleep it off. Couldn’t have taken that much of whatever it is.” Gansey didn’t say another word to Kavinsky as he led Ronan back into Monmouth.

Ronan let out a sob as they entered, and Gansey eased him down to sit on the bed. Ronan folded over on himself once more. Gansey went to get him a cup of water and some saltines. “What can I do, Ronan? What do you need?”

“Gansey, I just, I can’t focus. I can’t do this. I can’t. It’s not—it’s not—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Maybe lie down.” Gansey suggested, putting the water and saltines down as he sat beside Ronan.

“It hurts, Gansey. It—” He cut himself off with a choked sob and then began hyperventilating.

“What hurts?”

“Stomach.” Gansey pulled a trashcan closer to them.

“You shouldn’t stick things in your mouth when you don’t know what they are.”

“Nose.”

“What?”

“Stuck it… in my nose.” Gansey wrinkled his nose. “I’m just…I thought it would distract from some of it, make things better. But it doesn’t. I’m just angry and scared. All I ever feel is angry and scared, but this didn’t help. It didn’t help. It—”

“Ronan,” Gansey whispered and helped the boy lie down. “You’re safe, okay? Everything’s going to be okay. Try to sleep. Sleep it off, okay?”

“Don’t go. Don’t go, Gansey. Don’t let him—don’t go.” Ronan squeezed Gansey’s hand.

“I’m right here.” Finally, Ronan managed to hyperventilate himself to sleep. Gansey’s hand was turning purple in Ronan’s iron clasp, but he had no intentions of leaving Ronan alone.

Was this what Ronan had meant? Kavinsky understood this fear and anger that Ronan claimed haunted him? Was that what Ronan feared Gansey discovering? Of course, it was a fear of fear that cycled and wouldn’t stop.

It wasn’t some ‘worst’ part of Ronan that Ronan hid from Gansey. It was his weakest moments. Gansey had thought he had already seen those when Ronan’s father died, but maybe Ronan thought this was somehow worse. Maybe Ronan thought Gansey had a tipping point with him.

“How are you feeling?” Gansey asked when Ronan woke much later.

“Tired.”

“You just sleep five hours.” Gansey offered, and Ronan sat up. “You said—”

“Please don’t recount what I said while high,” Ronan snapped, and Gansey paused to consider this. It was a topic that would make Ronan feel vulnerable, so perhaps approaching it when Ronan was already on the defensive was not such a good idea. “What, Gansey? What did I say?” Ronan finally gave in, watching Gansey war with himself.

“You said you were always angry and afraid,” Gansey remarked, but Ronan only sighed.

“I thought the coke would distract.”

“You knew it was coke and you didn’t tell us?” Gansey narrowed his eyes.

“I’m still not sure it was coke. I saw white powder, knew that I watched K snort it enough and figured I’d give it a shot. Kavinsky seems to think he had enough other shit laying around that I might’ve taken something else.”

“It didn’t distract you, though.”

“No.” Ronan rubbed his eyes and sipped at the water that was still sitting beside the bed.

“Don’t go back. Let me help you.”

“Well, see, Gansey. The sex and—” He gulped. _The pain,_ Gansey filled in. “The adrenaline is a good enough other feeling that isn’t fear or anger.”

“Clearly not, if you thought you needed something else. What are you afraid of? Or angry at?”

“Myself. Mostly.”

“Afraid of yourself?” Ronan didn’t seem interested in answering.

“No,” he finally whispered.

“Then what?” Gansey stepped forward and knelt down in front of Ronan.

“I just …hate …me.” Ronan finally offered and squeezed his eyes shut, giving a chuckle rather than admitting his own vulnerability here. As if it were a joke rather than some deep, festering wound inside him.

“Why?” Gansey didn’t let the laugh faze him.

“I care.” Ronan’s eyes didn’t open.

“You’re allowed to care.”

“No, I’m not. It’s stupid to. Things change, people come and go. If you care, you’ll get hurt.”

“Let me show you.” Gansey reached up to cradle Ronan’s face in his hands. “Let me show you that you don’t have to fear loving someone.”

“Gansey—” Ronan’s voice cracked.

“Stop putting so much energy into hating yourself and let yourself love something instead. Feel something, Ronan. Let yourself feel.” Gansey pressed his lips to Ronan’s. Gansey felt his heart speed up as Ronan reached out and pulled Gansey closer. Ronan groaned—or growled—as he pulled Gansey up onto the bed beside him.

“Don’t be angry or afraid of caring, Ronan.” Gansey pulled away. Ronan had pulled Gansey on top of him as he lay on his back. Gansey kept his hands on Ronan’s cheeks as he stared down at him.

After what could have been ages of kissing and touching, Gansey rolled over to lie beside Ronan. He stared the boy down as Ronan stared up at the ceiling, his hand behind his head. “Kavinsky understood what it was to hate yourself, but you shouldn’t just put up with that hatred. You should—you should… learn to love yourself.” Gansey shrugged and Ronan finally looked over to him with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ll let you help me, then,” Ronan determined, and Gansey beamed. Ronan rolled his eyes, but wrapped his arms around Gansey to pull him in for another kiss. Or three.


End file.
